


Fragile

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Speculation, The X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to the X-Files writing challenge on tumblr: Touch. Loosely inspired in part by spoilers surrounding the revival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragile

**Author's Note:**

> So you know that thing that happens when you get an image in your head that nags at you until you sit down and write it out? That was this for me. I'm still new to writing these two, so I'm not sure if I have them quite right just yet. That being said, I hope that you enjoy. Thanks for reading!

Maggie dies on a cold Tuesday morning. The aftermath of a heart attack, although the doctors assure Scully she didn't feel any pain. Despite only being back at work for several weeks, Skinner all but orders her to take the rest of the week off, and so she busies herself with funeral arrangements and flights for what little family she has left. By Friday, her mother is in the ground.

Both as an agent and as a doctor, she's helped people cope with the reality of being orphaned before, and so she tries talking herself through all the steps she tells the families she's had to deal with over the years. Grief is a natural process that will take time, but eventually she will heal. Despite this, Scully excuses herself from the post-funeral dinner early, leaving Bill and Charlie to clean up.

She tells herself going back to the office technically isn't breaking Skinner's rule of her not working, and if he catches her she'll say she wanted to grab the lab reports she's been waiting on before heading home. She grabs the reports and intends on staying at the office to go over them instead, but the halls are too quiet and the walls are too stifling, so instead she gets in her car and drives.

She should go home, take a bath, and go to bed. She and her brothers are supposed to box up Maggie's things over the weekend, and she's been tasked with selling the house, being the one who lives in town. It's a miracle they were both able to get the time off long enough to even come, she thinks, raising her hand to wipe a tear away. The funeral had been small, friends and family. Despite her fears, Bill actually remained civil when Mulder showed up, although she supposed that could have been due to the threats she threw his way beforehand. Monica had even shown up for support, and Scully makes a mental note to call and ask her to lunch sometime soon. She'd said she couldn't attend the dinner afterward because one of her girls was home sick, but mentioned it'd been too long since they'd been together. It's not until now, driving down the highway alone, that she realizes Monica had actually meant  _all_  of them.

A car swerves far too close for comfort, jolting Scully from her thoughts, and she honks the horn before changing lanes herself. She blinks back the tears clouding her vision and realizes just how far she's driven. In reality, she hadn't left the Hoover with any real destination in mind, she'd only wanted to simply get away. She's been around people the entire day, telling her how sorry they were and what a great woman her mother was, and so she thought she wanted simply to be by herself. That may be true, she thinks, but she still doesn't want to be alone. She flicks on her turn signal, eyeing a familiar turn off sign, and knows exactly where she has to go.

In reality, she supposes she shouldn't entirely be surprised that this is where she'd end up. Despite telling him she'd be fine, she knows Mulder didn't entirely believe her, and so when she opens the door to the home they once shared, she hopes it isn't a mistake.

"Scully," he says, bolting up from his place on the couch. He lays the file in his hands down on the side table, watching her closely. "What are you doing here?"

She shuffles her weight before closing the door, adjusting the purse strap on her shoulder before looking at him. "I'm sorry. I, uh...I used my key. I wasn't sure if you'd-"

"I can see that," he replies, walking slowly in her direction, afraid if he moves too quickly he might startle her. With everything she's had to endure the past few days, it's a wonder she's even capable of functioning. "Is everything all right?"

The breath in her throat catches and she shrugs, looking up at him through her lashes. He knows how to read her better than anyone, so there's no use in trying to lie. "No. I don't know, Mulder. Everyone was at the house, talking about their favorite memories with her. About how sorry they are, and I just...I just couldn't..."

He's watched her the past few days, stepping away to place phone calls to funeral homes and to ticket agencies and realtors even, because despite her mother's body barely growing cold, getting her house on the market is something they have to worry about. He'd even been there when she picked out the casket her mother was to be buried in, and unwittingly he gets a flash of what it must have been like the time she had to pick one out for him. Through all of these things, he's seen her tear up a few times, but for the most part remain composed. He's thankful that if she breaks down at all, he's there to help her through it. "Scully-"

"I'm fine, Mulder," she says, holding up her hands in defense, keeping him at a distance. Since leaving, there have been days she's missed him like a phantom limb, and she knows if he were to touch her, the last shreds of her composure would fall apart. "I just didn't know where else to go."

He struggles to say something, anything, that might help, but for once he's at a loss for words. Save for the time she'd stopped by during a case the week before, this is the first time since she packed up her things and took off for the city that they've stood together in the living room he still thinks of as theirs. "Can I get you anything? Why don't you sit down?"

She shakes her head, moving towards the couch, setting her purse down before turning to look at him. "I've been sitting down. Why don't you tell me what you were working on before I interrupted you? But before you do, I should grab the files from my car. I stopped by to pick up a copy of the toxicology report before I left D.C., and-"

"Scully-" Mulder interjects, knowing the way she nervously places her hands on her hips and avoids his gaze all too well. She's struggling to make sense of everything that's happened and is already in the process of bottling it up by focusing on work instead. He's about to suggest she sit down again when he hears her continue.

"I haven't had a chance to look it over yet, but it could prove that contaminants were the cause of death rather than something more substantial. I know that you believe it to be-"

"Scully, listen. You've had a long drive and you need to take a break. Maybe work isn't what you should be thinking about right now," he says, choosing his words carefully. He doesn't want this to turn into a fight, although truth be told he's still trying to make sense of the reality that she's standing in their house again.

She watches the way he crosses the room in just a few strides, stepping around the couch to stand in front of her. The distance is smaller now; he's close enough she can smell his cologne, and her fingers twitch with an ache to reach out and grasp his. This man has been her anchor through so many times in her life that it only make sense for him to be there for her now. "I'm fine, Mulder. Please, can we focus on the-"

"Dana, stop," he says, hand reaching out to grasp her shoulder. His touch is her undoing, and his heart breaks a little as the tears she's been holding back begin to fall. "C'mere."

She steps toward him, welcoming the comfort his arms around her provide. For the first time in days, she allows her composure to crumble. If she were thinking clearly, she might question why she feels more at ease sobbing against the chest of the man she'd willingly walked away from than anyplace else, but for now she's content with the feeling of his hands rubbing circles against her back and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

He's not sure how long they stand there before her shoulders stop shaking and her breathing evens out, but he feels Scully begin to stiffen so he steps back, wanting to give her space.

"I'm sorry," she says, suddenly feeling too shy to look at him.

Mulder shakes his head, hand reaching out to brush a stray tear from her cheek. He starts to pull his hand away when hers reaches up, grasping it and holding it in place. He's surprised, but doesn't find her reaction entirely unwelcome. "You don't have anything to apologize for."

She does, they both do, but for now she's willing to let it slide. The familiar ache caused by the feeling of his fingertips pressing into her skin stirs within her, and so she eliminates what little distance there is between them by reaching up and placing a kiss against his lips.

There are a thousand ways he's imagined their reunion happening, but a grief-stricken Scully trying to numb her pain has never been one of them. He steps out of her embrace, his hand dropping back to his side. "You're not thinking clearly right now."

His answer is stilted and awkward, leaving little room for debate. She apologizes again, biting her tongue so hard it nearly bleeds. "I am perfectly coherent right now, Mulder. I should've realized something like that was inappropriate or unwelcome," she says, her voice barely louder than a whisper. She turns to the couch, intending on collecting her purse, because after being spurned all she wants to do is leave. "I should go."

"No, you shouldn't," he replies, reaching out to grab her arm. He sighs, desperate to find the right words to not screw this up. "You've been driving too much tonight. You should go up and get some sleep," he suggests, jerking his head in the direction of the stairs. He can't help the chuckle that escapes at her raised eyebrow. "Don't worry, I can crash on the couch. Although, for the record, that kiss was not unwelcome. It was the opposite, in fact. I just don't want you to do something you'd regret."

For a second she considers pushing further, considers testing the uncertain boundaries they've created for themselves, but she decides against it. A part of her wants to be angry, because how dare he question her intentions? But when she gazes back at him there is genuine love and concern and so many other things staring back at her, and she is helpless in her efforts to look away. She smiles, eyes watery, and shakes her head firmly. "I'd never regret it, Mulder," she says, meaning it so much more than she can let on. The weariness of the past few days has settled in her bones, and suddenly it's all she can do to keep herself standing up straight. She thanks him for the offer before turning for the stairs.

If things had been different, she wouldn't have had to stop and reach back for his hand as an invitation for him to follow. He wishes this could be easier, this figuring out what's okay and what isn't, but for now he finds comfort in the feeling of their palms pressed together as they head up the stairs. Later, under covers and in a hushed voice he'll tell her that she never has to thank him for offering to let her stay. This house is just as much hers as it is his, he'll say, tracing lines along her skin, and that is a fact that will never change. He will mention all of these things, but for now he watches as she toes off her heels, tossing her coat onto a near by chair, and not bothering with changing clothes before sliding under the blankets. "Good night, Scully," he says, and he's about to walk away when she reaches out for his arm.

"Mulder?" His name comes out like a question, and she sounds so small and sleepy, that there is no way he can possibly deny her. She feels a little guilty, asking for this much, but as he climbs into the bed behind her and settles an arm around her, she finds that she doesn't care. If there is one person who has and likely always will be there for her no matter the circumstances, it is this man, and for that she finds herself grateful. Fatigue is tugging at her, and so she reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze before shutting her eyes and hoping sleep will come quickly. "Thank you."


End file.
